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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679497">The World Watcher</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHoneyBee/pseuds/QueenHoneyBee'>QueenHoneyBee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:35:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHoneyBee/pseuds/QueenHoneyBee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The mysterious door that stands where a fireplace should be has always remained firmly shut, with rare exceptions. Now, it opens again. A World Watcher is born, taking on a destiny with which the fate of the world rests. Will he rise and become the champion, or succumb to the wickedness that lingers in the shadows?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Cycle Begins Anew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   The Old Man sat by the door and waited. He wasn’t sitting by the front door; rather, he was sitting by a door where a fireplace should have been. The door was carved into an ancient oak tree that the house had been built around. Whispers and rumors spoke of this tree being older than time itself. He had seen this door open only a few times in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, it was going to open once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   A mysterious light filled the room; he felt the Earth tremble underneath his body. As the vibrations grew stronger, a ring of light illuminated the door frame, separating the door from the rest of the wood. A gust of wind, seemingly from what lay beyond, swung the door open. From the doorway, the Old Man could see the cosmos: every constellation, every planet, every conceivable universe. He knew today was an extra special day as a small bundle of cloth passed through. He leaned forward, pressing his weight on his knees. He gingerly picked up the bundle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A new World Watcher had been born.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>       “Papa, c’mon, we’re going to be late!” The child stomped his foot on the floor to show his growing impatience. Papa chuckled, almost purposefully going as slow as possible. His gnarled fingers struggled to tie the laces on his boots; every passing day it became more and more challenging. </p><p>       “Alright, alright, Gregory, I’m ready.” Gregory cheered. He patted his lucky pouch, turned on his heels, and strutted out the door. The boy eagerly walked down the well-worn path, excited to make it to Market Day. Papa closed and locked the door behind him, remembering to return the key to its rightful place around his neck. The cool metal felt nice against his skin. His faithful walking stick stood vigilantly beside the door. He grabbed it, his fingers finding the grooves worn into the wood. Set and ready to go, he followed his grandson down the path.</p><p>       “What do you think they’re going to have today, Papa?” Gregory asked cheerily, his attention focused on everything but the direction he was going. </p><p>       “Well, since it’s almost autumn, I suppose we’ll see more apples and pumpkins.”</p><p>       “Pumpkins? Yay! That means Miss Cassie can make more pies!”</p><p>       “Indeed,” Papa mused. “I admit, I missed her pumpkin pies, although her blueberry pies are quite delightful.”</p><p>       “I don’t like blueberries,” Gregory pouted. He kicked up dirt as he walked, his small feet leaving large imprints. “What else?”</p><p>       “What else?” Papa repeated, savoring the words on his tongue. “There might be new fish in Alexandre’s stall.”</p><p>       “What else?”</p><p>       “I would hope to see more mushrooms. Perfect for soups when the weather gets chilly.”</p><p>       “What else?”</p><p>       “There will be more vegetables: carrots, turnips, corn, beets, parsnips, eggplants,” Papa kept track with his fingers; he only stopped when he was certain his grandson wasn’t listening anymore. Satisfied with the answers, Gregory remained silent. The steady rhythm of the walking stick wove in between the boy’s erratic footfalls. The forest began to clear; in the distance they could see the beginnings of the village. Brown roofs basked in the sunlight, enjoying the last clear days before the clouds made the sky their permanent home. The pleasant sound of indistinct chatter became louder and clearer as they approached. Sweet and savory smells wafted towards them, beckoning and enticing them.</p><p>       “Papa, smell that? Fresh bread!”</p><p>       “Ah, such a lovely scent. I wonder what Miss Cassie is baking today.” Papa stroked his long beard with his free hand. Gregory skipped down the hill, leaving his grandfather behind. Papa called out to him, but his words fell on deaf ears. The boy flew past the first houses, his feet knowing the way to the village square. After a couple of twists and turns, he could hear the rush of water from the fountain. He knew he was getting close. Mothers were on their balconies, hanging the laundry to dry while chatting with each other across the gap. They waved to him as he passed. Squeezing past barrels that smelled suspiciously of fish, he emerged in the square. Tents and tables filled with goodies greeted his eyes. The fountain stood proudly to his right; he felt the cool mist on his skin where his clothes couldn't reach anymore. </p><p>       “Hey! Gregory!” A voice called. Gregory spun in the direction of the voice; Alexandre waved him over to his stall. The boy happily obliged.</p><p>       “What have you got today, Alex?”</p><p>       “Only the finest fish in all of Arydia!” Alex boated, sweeping a large hand over the fish. Gregory eyed them with caution; the blank eyes unsettled him. Papa made sure to cut the meat when he was out of the house. </p><p>       “Anything tickling your fancy?”</p><p>       “I don’t know,” He stuck his hand under his mop of ginger hair and scratched a particular spot. “Papa usually buys the fish.”</p><p>       “You didn’t leave him behind again, did you?” The boy spun around, and sure enough, his grandfather was nowhere to be found. </p><p>       “Whoops,”</p><p>       “That’s okay, Gregory. Why don’t you go find Cassie? I bet she has a slice of pie waiting for you.”</p><p>       “Okay!” Alexandre waved as Gregory sped off towards the bakery. It wasn’t too far away from the market, but to an eight year old boy who had been promised a treat, it felt like it was miles away. He barged into the bakery and ran up to the counter.</p><p>       “Miss Cassie!”</p><p>       “Gregory! What have I told you about running into my shop like a wild stallion?” Cassie gave him a stern look. His eyes fell on his shoes.</p><p>       “I’m sorry, Miss Cassie. It’s just that Alexandre said you had a slice of pie for me.” </p><p>       “What? I don’t have any pie. They’re still in the oven.” </p><p>       “He lied to me?!”</p><p>       “No, Gregory, he didn’t lie. I’m sure he said I <em> might </em> have a slice of pie, not that I <em> would.</em>”</p><p>       “Oh,” Gregory sighed in defeat. </p><p>       “Where’s your grandfather?”</p><p>       “He’s coming.” </p><p>       “Good. I have some loaves set aside that I’d like him to buy while they’re still fresh.” Cassie rummaged behind he counter; Gregory stood on his toes, trying to get a better look at the ovens. </p><p>       “Do you want me to go get him?”</p><p>       “Actually, yes, could you? That would be great,” He nodded, turning to run out the door, but stopped himself. Not wanting another of Miss Cassie’s famous glares, he walked out the door instead. Back outside, he made his way towards the center of the square. He could find his grandfather easier if he stood on the ledge of the fountain. He removed his lucky knapsack from his pocket and spun it around. A shadow danced in the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, he saw nothing, so he continued on his way. After a few more steps, he saw it once again. </p><p>       “If you’re playing a game, I don’t like it.” He called out. To his left, he saw someone approaching him. It was a girl about his age, wearing a long robe that hid her feet. She struggled to keep from stepping on it.</p><p>       “Who are you?” He cocked his head, staring at her curiously. It was hard from him to distinguish where her curly black hair ended and her black robe began.</p><p>       “I’m Abigail. Who are you?”</p><p>       “Gregory.” </p><p>       “What’s that you’re holding?”</p><p>       “Oh, this?” Gregory held the cloth bag up for her to see. “It’s my lucky pouch! My papa made it for me.”</p><p>       “It’s full of magic.” Abigail stated matter-of-factly.</p><p>       “Magic? How do you know?”</p><p>       “I’m a witch. Or, a witch in training,” She put her hands on her hips. “My mama is part of a coven that lives in the forest. All my aunties and my gran are teaching me magic.”</p><p>       “How do you know my lucky pouch is magic?” He asked again.</p><p>       “I can just tell. It’s called ‘sensing,’ I think.”</p><p>       “Wait, I live in the forest, too. How come we’ve never met each other?” Abigail opened her mouth to answer, but no words were spoken. She slowly mashed her lips together. </p><p>       “This is my first time in the village,” She answered softly. “Mom said that if I was super good, she’d take me with her to Market Day.”</p><p>       “You’ve never been here before? Follow me, I have a lot to show you!” He held out his open hand, smiling a big, toothy grin. She hesitated, but relented. She accepted Gregory’s outstretched hand; she yelped as he took off running. She hurriedly bunched up her robe in her fist. </p><p> </p><p>I.</p><p>   The Old Man shuffled into the square just in time to see his grandson take off once more. It was easy to spot him among the crowd with a crown of bright red hair on his head. He laughed to himself, and made his way towards Alexandre’s stall.</p><p>       “Good to see you, Maximus. You just missed Gregory; I told him Cassie’s pies might be out of the oven by now.”</p><p>       “Oh, you torture the poor girl, Alex.” Maximus chuckled heartily. “I see you’ve brought Norwynnden trout with you.”</p><p>       “Yes! I swear, this is my largest catch yet off that cursed coast. I’d normally charge extra, but for an old friend, I’ll instead offer a discount.”</p><p>       “You’re too kind,” The older man studied each fish. He noticed they looked slightly bigger than last week’s catch. “Do you have any news?” He asked in a lowered voice.</p><p>       “Our informants say King Alden is planning an attack on Syrica. Princess Kathrynne rejected his marriage proposal this last winter.”</p><p>       “It seems he has found an opportunity to begin his conquest.” Maximus mused.</p><p>       “That old bastard has been wanting to conquer these lands since he usurped the throne from his father.”</p><p>       “It was a foolish decision, but it is not surprising for a stubborn bull like Alden.”</p><p>       “Be prepared, old friend,” Alexandre sighed. “War may be on the horizon.”</p><p>       “PAPA! Papa, look, I made a friend!” Gregory came flying out from between two passersby, clutching the wrist of an alarmed young girl. Maximus threw his fish back onto the stall counter to free his hands in time. His hands met the boy's shoulders hard, enough to make him stagger back. </p><p>       “Ouch!”</p><p>       “Not so fast! What have I told you about running?” </p><p>       “Not to,” Gregory guiltily averted his eyes. “But I’m really excited for you to meet my friend.” Maximus took this opportunity to look at the girl behind his grandson, now that they were both standing still. She was draped in a black dress that was a size too big for her tiny frame. She peered up at him with wide violet eyes.</p><p>       “And who are you, my dear?”</p><p>       “Abigail.” The girl squeaked. She kept herself hidden behind Gregory, poking her head out from behind his.</p><p>       “Now, now, don’t be shy. I won’t bite,” He tried to laugh off the remark, but her eyes never left him.</p><p>       “Mama won’t be happy that I’ve been gone so long.”</p><p>       “Well, we should return you to your mother, then. Would you know where she is?” Abigail shook her head. Maximus sighed, groaning as he straightened out his legs. He attempted to look over the crowd, but he wasn’t entirely sure who he was looking for. He only did so to make the children assume he knew what to do. </p><p>       “What does your mother look like?”</p><p>       “She’s wearing the same dress as me, and has a really pretty purple cloak that my grandma sewed by hand. She’s also got this necklace with a strange pendant. I don’t like looking at it, but the red jewel in the middle is really beautiful.” Almost as if she was conjured by a spell, the woman matching the exact description appeared in Maximus’s field of view. He saw her frantically search the square for her missing daughter. </p><p>       “Mama!” Abigail cried, catching the woman’s attention. Relief washed over her as she rushed to reunite with her child.</p><p>       “Abigail, thank goodness! I look away for a single second and you’re gone. My goodness, child, you scared me half to death!” She picked up Abigail and set her on her hip. She gave a queer look to Maximus.</p><p>       “Were you troubling these poor souls?” She asked, although the question was intended for him to answer.</p><p>       “Oh, I believe it was the other way around. My grandson can get a bit carried away when he’s excited. I think the poor girl was given a whirlwind tour of the marketplace.” Gregory stood awkwardly at his grandfather’s side, uncomfortable being embarrassed in front of a stranger.</p><p>       “I think these two have both learned valuable lessons today.”</p><p>       “I agree. May I have your name before we part?”</p><p>       “You may call me Morgana.”</p><p>       “Morgana, I’ve been to every market day for the last five decades, and yours is an unfamiliar face. Might I know why?” Morgana smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth.</p><p>       “My family is new to the area. We traveled from Norwynnde; my mother grew tired of the Northern climate. We made our home at the edge of the wood, if you’re inclined to visit.” </p><p>       “I shall keep that in mind. Gregory, say goodbye to your new friend; we still have a bit of shopping to do.”</p><p>       “Aww, okay, Papa. Bye, Abigail.” The children waved sadly to each other as their adults led them in separate directions. Little did they know, their first meeting had sealed their fates, destiny already working on a grandiose plan with Gregory and Abigail as her star performers. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Witch's Calling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> <em> Seven Years Later </em> </span>
</p><p>       “Papa, when are you ever going to tell me about that big door?” Gregory’s voice cut through the silence. Maximus, interrupted from his work, sighed heavily.</p><p>       “I’ve told you before: I’ll tell you everything when you are ready.”</p><p>       “But how will I know I’m ready?” The boy whined.</p><p>       “You’ll be ready when you stop asking me that question.” Gregory rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Now fifteen years old, he didn’t possess the same wonder his child-self did. Impatience had consumed his personality; it was starting to ruffle Maximus’s feathers the wrong way. The old man rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. He knew it was simply a phase. It didn’t mean he was going to enjoy enduring it, however. </p><p>       “You don’t want to tell me, just say it.”</p><p>       “I do want to tell you, Gregory. But you aren’t ready for the responsibility that comes with it.”</p><p>       “What kind of responsibility comes with a <em> door </em> <em>?</em> What’s behind this door that’s so incredibly important?”</p><p>       “The universe and all her creation.”</p><p>       “I don’t believe you. Don’t lie to me, papa.” Gregory huffed, stomping to his room and slamming the door. Maximus could feel his own anger bubbling in his heart. He swore never to lie to his grandson, yet seeing the truth discarded so easily irked him. <em> Gregory thinks all those bedtimes stories are simply that: stories, </em>Maximus thought. The conversation weighed on his mind as he continued his work.</p><p> </p><p>   Gregory slammed his door, the solid wood producing a dull <em> thud </em>. He threw himself onto his bed. The soft quilt absorbed the impact; it caused him to slowly sink rather than bounce. The anger dissipated as he stared at the ceiling. He was left feeling restless. Gregory sat up; the fluttering of his curtains caught his eye. The sound of soft, tinkling bells filled his ears. The smell of lavender and rosemary incense permeated the air. He knew exactly what that meant:</p><p>Abigail was home. </p><p>Gregory slid his feet into the closest pair of shoes he could find. He put on a warm tunic, as he knew the night would be chilly. Finally, he grabbed his lucky pouch off his nightstand. With it tucked into his pocket, he climbed out the window. Gregory took care in gently lowering himself onto the ground. The dead grass by his room would alert his grandfather. He’d be grounded for the rest of his life if he was caught sneaking out. A path opened up before his feet. It was made of soft dirt; Abigail knew he would come. The half moon hung high in the sky; it gave him just enough light to see. </p><p>The trees stood like silent guardians, watching Gregory with silent reproach. Lonely creatures called out into the night; a final farewell before the winter took hold. Gregory used to despise winter. Bitter winds left his extremities numb, snow made his clothes soggy, and the constant grey and white dulled out any beauty leftover from autumn. Over the years he discovered a reason to enjoy the season: the coming of winter meant that Abigail would return from her travels. </p><p>He would always bother her about where she would go, and why she only came home for a few months. Abigail always avoided the question, giving him absent or sometimes cryptic answers. </p><p> </p><p>   The path Gregory walked ended beside an overgrown raspberry bush, the fruit long since harvested. </p><p>       “You seem happy to see me.” Abigail’s voice spoke as she emerged from behind a tree. She blended into the night with her black cloak. </p><p>       “You’re my best friend.”</p><p>       “Did you get into another fight with your grandpa?” Right on the nose, as always. </p><p>       “Yeah,” Gregory answered with a huff.</p><p>       “You really need to stop that. I’m getting bored of reading letters about nothing but your squabbling.”</p><p>       “Sorry,” He rubbed a sore spot on his arm. “Hey, Abbey, why do we always meet in this same spot? Why can’t we ever meet someplace warm, like your house?”</p><p>       “My grandmother will sacrifice you to the old gods.” She stated matter-of-factly, deadpan expression on her slender face.</p><p>       “Oh, yeah, right. She doesn’t like outsiders, I remember.” </p><p>       “I’ll start a fire,” Abigail raised her right hand, which Gregory could now see, and pointed her wand at the ground. </p><p>       “Ignios!” She shouted. A burst of flame erupted from the tip of her wand, catching hold of a pile of twigs and other small shrubs. The flame danced over its new home. They relished its warmth. Gregory spotted a suitable log for them to sit; he pulled it closer to the fire. Abigail produced a blanket from underneath her cloak and spread it out. She sat down first, him following suit. </p><p>       “So, how were your travels?”</p><p>       “Fine.”</p><p>       “Nothing exciting happened?”</p><p>       “Well, my mother did get into a fight with a barkeep. She turned him into a pig and served him for breakfast.”</p><p>       “Yikes,” Gregory shivered. He played it off like he was still affected by the cold. </p><p>       “Did I miss anything here while I was away?”</p><p>       “Hmmm, let me think… Oh! Alexandre and Cassie had their baby. It’s a girl, so I owe you a couple coins.” Abigail smirked, but let her facade slip just enough for him to see a genuine smile.</p><p>       “See, I told you. Mother’s never wrong,”</p><p>       “Speaking of Cassie, her apprentice was absolutely terrible! He always burnt at least half of the loaves, his pies don’t come close to hers, and he tried charging higher prices for everything! It was amazing watching Cassie give him an earful. I’ve never seen anyone so embarrassed.” </p><p>       “Who was it, Lionel?”</p><p>       “No, some new kid. Brandon, I think.”</p><p>       “At least he’s gone, right? If he tried doing that to me, I’d most likely use magic to transform him into the most perfect loaf of bread anyone’s ever tasted.” Gregory mashed his lips together, deeply unsettled by her nonchalance. </p><p>       “I don’t think mother would actually allow me to use that kind of spell. ‘Too advanced,’ she’d say. She never lets me cast fun spells.”</p><p>       “You think turning people into food is <em> fun </em>?” The words escaped Gregory’s mouth before he had the chance to reign them back. Abigail stared at him, her mouth agape. A grimace painted her face as she turned away.</p><p>       “I’m a witch. That’s what witches do. I don’t think it’s wrong to enjoy it.” The two sat in an uneasy silence. He pulled at his sleeve, his eyes captivated by the swirling flames. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of transformation against one’s will; it was akin to killing them. Well, in Abigail’s mother’s case, she actually did kill. Served him for breakfast! The urge to vomit was overwhelming. </p><p>       “Hey, Gregory, I have something for you. You don’t have to keep it, though.” From underneath her cloak, she pulled out a spoon.</p><p>       “A spoon?”</p><p>       “Yeah, an enchanted one. It will grow and shrink depending on what you’re eating, so you can always get the perfect bite.” She handed it to him, handle first. Gregory hesitated. With a shrug, he accepted the gift. It was made of hard wood with intricate carvings peeking out from between his fingers. </p><p>       “Mother instructed me to craft something I could easily enchant. Here it is.”</p><p>       “Simple and easy to hide, I like it. Nobody thinks of a spoon; they’ll think of...they’ll think of...wands. And long, gnarled staffs!” </p><p>       “Those are conduits, you moron!” The tension dissipated at the sound of their shared laughter. From deep within the woods, a sharp birdcall echoed, piercing the night. Abigail immediately stopped laughing.</p><p>       “Mother’s discovered I’m not home. I have to go,” She shot off the log. Gregory stood as well; she snatched the blanket out from under him. He kicked snow onto the flames; it sizzled and popped, then was no more. </p><p>       “Will I see you again soon?” He asked, trying to let himself sound too excited.</p><p>       “Yeah, you will. Hopefully during the day, too.”</p><p>       “That’d be nice. It won’t be so cold.” He rubbed his arms. The chill of the night sunk into his flesh through his clothes. </p><p>       “You should go home, Gregory. The bed will be nice and warm for you.” Abigail bid farewell and vanished into the encroaching darkness. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I. </em>
</p><p>   Gregory slipped back into his room through his bedroom window. Abigail was right: his bed was warmed like he had been sleeping in it all evening. Satisfied, he drifted off into an easy sleep. His hand still grasped the spoon.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> II. </em>
</p><p>   It had been a few days since Gregory and Abigail’s last meeting. Every day, he went down to the village with the hopes of seeing his friend, but she never made an appearance. <em> She must have gotten in trouble, </em>he reasoned. He wasn’t knowledgeable about what it was like living in a witches coven; surely the parents still punished the children for sneaking out at night, right?  </p><p>On the fifth day, Abigail showed. He saw her in Cassie’s bakery, happily munching on a freshly baked bear claw. </p><p>       “There you are!” He announced as he entered the shop. Abigail whipped her head up, eyes wide, but calmed once she saw who spoke.</p><p>       “Hey, loud mouth. I got grounded, but only for a few days.”</p><p>       “So, I was right. I hope your mom didn’t punish you too horribly?”</p><p>       “Oh, nothing severe. I had to stay awake for three days and three nights to meet with an old god who only likes to appear through sleep-deprived delusions. He’s a pleasant fellow, although difficult to reach.” Abigail took another bite out of her pastry. She couldn’t help but smile at Gregory’s horrified look. </p><p>       “Yikes. When I get grounded, I have to help Papa with his work. Or I’m not allowed to go to Market Day.”</p><p>       “We have very different lives.”</p><p>       “We sure do.” </p><p>       “Oh, Gregory,” Cassie called from the counter. “I made something special for you, too. Come here, please.” His interest was piqued; he quickly walked over, watching Cassie disappear into the back and reappear with the widest loaf he’d ever seen.</p><p>       “This is for you and your grandpa to share. I figure it would be lovely for a roast dinner.”</p><p>       “Oh, um, I don’t have any coins with me-”</p><p>       “Don't worry about it. I’ll collect payment on Market Day.” Cassie winked. </p><p>       “That’s really nice of you. Thanks, Cassie.” He accepted the bread and waved his goodbye to Cassie. Abigail yanked him outside the shop by his sleeve and pulled him into the alley.</p><p>       “Gregory, there’s something really important I need to tell you.” </p><p>       “Did something happen? What happened to being so nonchalant?” He squinted at her, analyzing the sudden shocked expression she now wore. </p><p>       “Mother just sent me a message. She wants to meet you. So does my grandmother.”</p><p>       “What?” He found himself equally as shocked as she was. “I thought they didn’t like men.”</p><p>       “Where did you get that idea?" She shot him a look. "Regardless, meet me in our normal meeting spot when the moon is highest in the sky. Don’t tell your grandpa, okay?” Gregory stared at her for a moment. He’d never met anyone in Abigail’s coven. She always spoke about her family, but it was just talk. This must have been <em> extremely </em>important.  </p><p>       “Yeah, okay. I’ll meet you.” Relief washed over her face.</p><p>       “Excellent. I’ll be seeing you; don’t forget, okay?” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Forced Hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   Gregory sat on the edge of his bed. The anticipation was getting to him; goosebumps prickled his flesh. Papa had tried to ask him why he seemed so tense during dinner, but he brushed off the questions. He wasn’t sure how to tell his grandfather that his best friend belonged to a powerful coven of witches. He decided to spare himself the lecture. </span>
  <span>He set his feet down on the hardwood and stood. After staring himself down in the mirror, he decided he was appropriately dressed. A warm tunic. Pants that actually fit him. His nicest pair of shoes. An idea struck him: he grabbed Abigail’s spoon, undid the knotted twine, and re-tied it around his belt. Then his eyes settled on his hair. The once wild orange mane had been trimmed down. It was starting to darken. He ran his fingers through it, deciding he looked fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking out the window, Gregory saw the moon climbing high in the sky. It was time to go. The old window creaked as he opened it. His heart raced; he prayed his papa would assume he needed fresh air. If he was still awake, that is. But he couldn’t stop now. He saw in Abigail’s eyes how important this was. He tried his best to crawl out the opening, but his long teenaged body didn't quite fit as easily as it used to. Now outside, he could now see the beginnings of snow, despite the cloudless sky. The dirt path underneath his feet stretched out before him; only this time, candles lit the path. Pillars of white wax, each with a dancing flame atop the wick. The cold did not reach him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an overwhelming scent of incense; an aroma rich and earthy, it made Gregory’s nose crinkle. He grew accustomed to it as he walked into the woods. Soft chanting filled his ears, growing louder as he drew nearer. It was in a language he didn't understand. He didn’t recognize the area he was in, yet, somehow, he knew where he was, like he had seen it in a dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The path ended at the doorstep of a cottage. It was a cozy-looking abode, each window illuminated by candlelight. Herbs and wildflowers grew around the perimeter. Only the night blooming flowers were open. The chanting reached its climax, then suddenly stopped. After a moment’s silence, Gregory could hear the tinkling of a bell behind him. He spun around; Abigail was standing there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “You decided to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “You’re my best friend. Why wouldn’t I?” Abigail smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Everyone’s waiting. Let’s go,” She walked ahead of him, opening the door. He gulped and followed her inside. </span>
  <span>The witch's house was only partially like he imagined: bookshelves reached from floor to ceiling, packed with large novels, crystals, and other knick-knacks. Dried herb bundles were strung up on the wall leading to the kitchen. A black cauldron hung in the fireplace. There was a fresh stick of incense burning on the mantle. A portrait of an older woman hung above the fireplace; she exuded grace and regality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “That’s my great-great-great grandmother, Sabine. My aunties say that she was one of the only witches who could harvest souls for her spell work.” Abigail looked at the painting in awe. Gregory shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Ah, there you are. Welcome, Gregory. It’s been quite a long time, hasn’t it?” Abigail’s mother entered the living room. She was dressed in a long black gown, adorned with a necklace of the coven’s symbol. He recognized it immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “H-Hello, Abigail’s mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Oh, please call me Morgana.” She smiled wide; he remembered how unnerved he was the first time he saw his friend’s mom’s teeth. They still bothered him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Morgana, has he arrived?” Another woman, Gregory assumed was Abigail’s grandmother, appeared seemingly from nowhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Yes, mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Excellent. Brew some tea, child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Yes, grandmother.” Abigail scuttled away, prepping a kettle and picking a few herbs off the wall. The old woman’s eyes pierced right through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Welcome to our home. Have a seat, boy.” He scoured the living room, selecting the leather couch as an acceptable place to sit. He planted himself on the left side. Both Morgana and the grandmother sat in separate chairs, pulled in to sit close to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “So, you must be the young lad Abigail met seven years ago. What shall I call you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Gregory,” He stammered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Gregory; a fine name. You may call me Vivien. Nothing else.” He nodded vigorously. Vivien carried an air of intimidation about her, and Gregory fell victim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I see you brought the gift Abigail gave you. How sweet of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I think it’s neat,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Neat?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gregory mentally slapped himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re meeting the leader of a coven of witches, and you say something like ‘neat’?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was clear on Vivien’s face that she didn’t approve of his word choice, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “The tea is ready, grandmother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Bring it here,” Abigail did as she was told. She delicately carried a tray with the kettle, and several tea cups. After setting the tray down, Abigail sat down next to Gregory. Vivien poured the tea with astounding precision. She handed him a cup, then Abigail, then Morgana. Gregory eyed the tea suspiciously. In his periphery, he saw Morgana take a sip and sigh with satisfaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “It’s called Midnight Brew; I think it's obvious why.” Abigail whispered. With a shrug, Gregory gulped it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Not so fast, boy.” Vivien spoke so sharply it made him jump. Embarrassed, he finished his tea in tiny sips. “Now, hand the cup back to me. I’ll see what the leaves say.” Gregory placed his teacup in her outstretched hand. She brought the cup to her face, turning it in small circles. He watched her face, desperate for any modicum of expression. Her brows furrowed. Gregory’s worry grew exponentially.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Oh, dear. Oohh, dear. Abigail, why didn’t you tell me?” She murmured into the cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Tell you what, grandmother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Do you know who your friend is, child?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “His name is Gregory, we’re the same age, he was born in the spring, he's training to be a woodcarver-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “That is not what I meant, and you know it.” Vivien interrupted. “No, who this boy </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>is. His origin, his purpose, his fate.” His worry transformed into confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Gregory, has your grandfather told you anything about who you are?” Morgana asked. This made him think. The only thing he could recall was:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Story goes, my parents abandoned me when I was a baby, and he’s the one who found me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Ah, such a gentle lie to placate a youth’s curiosity. I am about to reveal many things to you this night; the answers you are seeking, the answers your grandfather will not give you. Are you prepared to hear them, Gregory?” He thought back to the last fight he had with his Papa, how reluctant the older man was to tell him anything. The door where a fireplace should have been, the door he was told he shouldn’t open, the damn door that haunted his dreams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Very well.” Vivien rose to her feet and snuffed the incense between her thumb and forefinger. She selected a new stick, and dipped the end into the fire. With one quick breath, the new flame was extinguished, and purple smoke began to rise. A rich, exotic scent filled the room. It was unlike anything he had ever smelled before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Gregory. The watchful, the alert. You were brought into this world on the 5th of March, under the star sign Pisces. I see a door in your mind’s eye...yes...the door standing in the hearth of the home. That door is connected to the universe itself. It only opens for special circumstances, your birth included. You are a child of the universe. I see it now. Your destiny is to maintain the balance, to protect those in danger, to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “<em>Gregory! </em>What on Earth are you doing here?!” Maximus burst into the house, his overcoat drenched from the heavy snowfall. Gregory felt his heart leap to his throat. The women immediately jumped to their feet, wands drawn at the intruder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I could ask you the same question, Ancient One.” Vivien spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I’m here to collect my grandson. Gregory, by me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I can see it like it was written on his skin, Ancient One,” Vivien spoke. “There is confusion, distrust; the boy is desperate for answers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I was waiting until he was old enough to understand.” Maximus’s tone was dangerously calm. “He doesn’t know the responsibility his destiny demands of him. I don’t want him to sacrifice what little peace he has.” A storm began to brew inside Gregory. Of course he didn’t understand; no one told him anything! And now, hearing this conversation unfold, the answers he’d been seeking so easily given and taken away again...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “You aren’t doing this boy any favors by keeping him in the dark. Either join us in his education, or take him home and finish it yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I’m not leaving!” Gregory shouted, finally finding his voice. “I’m staying here! You can’t make me do anything! I’m not a little kid anymore.” Maximus’s mouth hung agape. He watched his grandfather’s face harden into an expression he’d never seen before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “We’re leaving. Right. Now.” Gregory frantically looked to the witches for help. Abigail wore the same scared face as him. Morgana and Vivien did not lower their wands; Morgana’s eyes full of worry, Vivien impossible to read. Maximus took three large steps and grabbed his grandson by the arm. Gregory’s protests proved futile; his grandfather’s grip was too tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “The boy will be sixteen soon, that’s the perfect time to ready him for his fate. The more time he has to prepare, the better.” Morgana called out after them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I will decide what’s best for him.” Gregory watched helplessly as the cottage grew smaller and smaller. He could see Morgana wave her wand and cast an incantation; the candles on the path ignited to guide them home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>       “What the hell do you think you were doing, convening with those witches? Do you understand what kind of trouble you could have gotten into?” Maximus yelled, throwing the boy into the house. Gregory stumbled to regain his footing. Once he had it, he spun around to face his grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “No, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>understand, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t tell me anything! I had to go to a witch’s house to get answers! Answers </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t give me!” Gregory spat back. “What destiny do I have? Why are you so against me finding out? Why did Abigail’s grandma call you ‘Ancient One’? What did she mean when she said I’m a child of the universe? What the hell is wrong with that door!?” Tears streamed down Gregory’s reddened cheeks. His fists clenched so tightly his nails began biting into the flesh of his palms. Maximus’s heart wrenched, his anger fading into regret. He sighed harshly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Gregory, I knew this day would come. I suppose Vivien was right. I can’t keep this a secret from you any longer.” Maximus guided his weary bones towards his leather chair. Gregory remained where he stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Come sit by me, please.” Gregory willed his feet to move. He decided to sit as far away from his grandfather as he possibly could. He rubbed his arms, whether to shake away the cold or the fear, he did not know. Maximus prepared a fresh pipe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Sixteen years ago, I began having dreams of an ethereal woman. She was a giant compared to myself; her hair incomprehensibly long. I could see celestial spheres weaving in and out of the ever-changing locks. Her mouth moved to form words, but I heard her voice from within my own mind. She told me she was pregnant, and had entrusted me to care for the child. I kept an eye on this very door since that dream. On the 5th of March, the door began behaving very strangely. I could see lights emanating from underneath. If I pressed my hand against the wood, I could feel a pulse, much like a heartbeat. Finally, before the sun set, it opened. You came through, a tiny bundle that barely fit in my hands.” Gregory sat, in awe, of his grandfather’s story. The realization hit him like a sack of bricks: his bedtime stories were true, every single one. What he hadn’t realized, however, was how closely he was now sitting to his grandfather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I made a vow to care for you like you were my own. I also promised to give you the best life possible, even if that meant lying to you about your origin. When Vivien called you a child of the universe, she meant that quite literally.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “But, Papa, why did she call you ‘Ancient One’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Because I am very, very old. I am a Guardian. My duty is to protect this world; I was specifically created for it by the universe herself. You, on the other hand, are a World Watcher. Your destiny is to travel between worlds and find others like myself. You are the guardian, meant to help your mother by ensuring the balance of the cosmos is maintained and protected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Wait, you said you were created by the universe. Are you… like my brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “No, my boy, I am not her child.” Maximus couldn’t help but chuckle at the innocent question. Gregory remained unaffected by the soft laughter, worry planted firm on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Why do you hate the witches, Papa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I… I do not hate them. They have, however, proven to be a thorn in my side. Witches like the ones of Abigail’s coven claim to be descendants of a World Watcher. They believe this gives them the right to act as the universe’s will, to bestow reward and punishment however they see fit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “So...they’re trying to take over for the both of us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Exactly right, my boy.” Silvery smoke escaped from his mouth as he spoke. “I fear that you are in danger, now that Vivien knows who you are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “I’m sorry. I caused this whole mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Gregory, I should be the one apologizing. I put you at risk by keeping secrets. From now on, I promise to truthfully answer any and all questions you may have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Papa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “What is Vivien going to do to me?” This caught him off guard. Maximus took a few deep puffs from his pipe to avoid his grandson’s hard eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “That… I’m sorry, Gregory, but I do not know.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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